House of Serpents
by The Twisted Mind of Ozzie
Summary: Salazar Slytherin's basilisk was the best thing that happened to him. He went into the chamber knowing it meant certain death, he came out of it with a father. Granted he was dead but still, Slytherin's undead, rotten corpse was better than the Dursley's. He also gets a new place to call home. Westeros is about to be shaken by the boy-who- just- can't- die. HP, DT, MT.
1. Chapter 1

In a cone-tipped tower high above the ground, a pair of glimmering, emerald orbs gazed out at the land below. The owner of said orbs was a young male, a male in his late teens with messy black hair and bright emerald eyes, hidden below the fringe of his messy hair was a peculiar scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

This teen was Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Wizarding Apprentice, Knight-in-Training and most recently, Heir of Slytherin.

"It's been so long." Harry spoke, a wistful sigh escaping him as his eyes glazed over in thought. "I wonder if the others even miss me, we weren't really friends but we shared some good times..."

It had been five years? maybe six?...

It had been a _long_ time since he'd found himself trapped in this land, stranded so very far from home.

It had all begun during his second year as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the year the **Chamber of Secrets** was opened and the **Monster of Slytherin** was released.

* * *

Despite being sorted into Slytherin house in his first year, Harry had never shared the more intolerant views of his peers, namely the blatant racism and prejudice propagated by his more extremist housemates. Still, after a first year full of humiliating pranks, devious sneak attacks and outright assault against his more aggressive housemates, he had gained a reputation as someone not to be messed with, so much so that his second year was going quite well without any attacks from his fellow Slytherins.

Then some fool went and opened the **Chamber of Secrets** and began attacking muggleborns.

The year had spiralled downwards from there, as a majority of the school believed him to be the one behind the attacks, especially after he'd been outed as a parselmouth by Draco Malfoy, his self-proclaimed rival.

The crowning moment of what was turning out to be his worst year ever was the kidnapping of Ginny Weasley, the younger sister of one of his most fervent enemies. It was this final event that had motivated him to find the chamber and go after the girl, not to be a heroic and headstrong Gryffindor but to clear his name before he ended up in a cell beside the school groundskeeper.

Sliding down a grimy pipe and slogging through a trail of animal bones, he'd found the girl unconscious, the ghostly form of her attacker standing above her body and the monster, a massive basilisk, coiled around the leg of a large stone statue.

Words were exchanged, the attacker revealing himself to be a younger Lord Voldemort, -the most powerful dark lord in a century _somehow_ managing to sneak into the _safest_ place in Britain for the second year in a row- before the basilisk was set upon him.

The following events were still a fuzzy blur to him, just a long stream of running through pipes and avoiding the poisonous maw and deadly sight of the massive serpent. At some point during his mad scramble, he'd found and picked up a weapon of some sort, a grimy short sword with some letters etched onto its side and dirty emeralds dotting the hilt. It was this sword that had saved his life when the basilisk finally caught up to and swallowed him whole, the blade allowing him to land a lucky blow from inside the creatures' mouth, piercing its brain and killing it instantly.

The minutes following his crawl out of the snakes' mouth were the fuzziest, an indistinct mess of images and feelings. He remembered stabbing the diary that the spirit had been bound to with the bloodied sword, which had released a blast of magical power that had sent him flying into the basilisk's form and caused some symbols carved into the statue and floor to start glowing.

Things were mostly a dark blur after that, there was a bright flash of fire followed by cheery birdsong and hurried footsteps, another great surge of magic from the glowing symbols and then... darkness again.

* * *

When he'd woken sometime later, he had been curled up at the basilisk's side but he was no longer in the **Chamber of Secrets** , the room he'd found himself in was much smaller than the chamber and while there had still been snake effigies strewn about, the large statue of Salazar Slytherin had been missing.

He'd stumbled around for several minutes, dirtied sword in one hand and wooden wand in the other, before he had managed to find an exit. It was at that point that he'd discovered he was inside a castle, one that was most assuredly not Hogwarts, a fact that was proven when he'd met the castles sole inhabitant...

 _~What are you doing boy? ~_ a voice hissed out, startling him from his thoughts. _~It's almost time for your lessons, come along. ~_

Harry sighed as he turned to face the speaker, his face blank of emotion despite the cheerful gleam in his eyes. The creature before him may have once been considered a man but that was no longer a fact, what had once been a powerful and stern man built of muscle and flesh was now nothing but an eerie abomination, a walking skeleton covered in rotting flesh and dressed in moth eaten robes.

At one time, this had been Salazar Slytherin, Lord of the Most Ancient and Cunning House of Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts and father of modern day magic. Now he was simply Salazar Slytherin, Undead Lich and one of the two inhabitants of a dirty old castle.

He was also the adopted father of Harry Potter, now known as Harrison Slytherin.

 _~Yes, father. ~_ Harry replied, following behind the skeletal form of his mentor and caretaker.

* * *

It had been quite a shock for both he and Salazar when they had first encountered one another, an encounter that had led to an hour-long chase through the large castle before the two had finally gotten the opportunity to speak.

Harry had been shocked to find out that he was no longer in Britain, in fact, he hadn't been on earth at all. Somehow, he had been transported to an alternate realm, ending up in Slytherin's castle on the main continent of the planet; Westeros.

 _~The runes in the chamber were of my own make, they were originally meant to facilitate quick and efficient travel from Hogwarts to my family home on the mainland but after my falling out with Godric and the ensuing fight, I was forced to activate them prematurely. Due to some error in the rune matrix, Godric and I were both transported to this strange land and I used the ensuing confusion to escape from him, running into a nearby forest before he could give chase. ~_ Salazar had told him, his lack of vocal cords only allowing him to hiss out the magical tongue of serpents. _~He and I met many times after that, he having found new comrades while I had manged to enslave some thralls and forge a few tenuous alliances with the local muggles. Our battles were the tales of legends in those day, the Mighty Lion Gryffindor and the Cunning Serpent Slytherin, two of the few capable of wielding the powers of the gods. ~_

The lich released a wistful sigh at that, remembering times long past.

 _~Eventually, I retired from the battlefield and had this castle built, seeking to study the surrounding location and perhaps find a way to return to my proper home. ~_ Slytherin continued, gazing at the stone walls around them. _~A difficult task as I lacked the proper tools and knowledge to conduct such an investigation, my specialty had always been in potions and duelling, the more exotic magics had always been Rowena's field of study.~_

Harry listened intently as the story was told, this was a tale coming from the mouth of one of the most famous wizards in wizarding history, there was no way he wouldn't pay attention.

 _~Godric soon learned of what I had done and knowing what I planned, he attacked with his comrades, hoping to also find a way back to our homeland. ~_ Salazar continued, glancing over to see that he had the younger boy's undivided attention. _~The siege was long and arduous, Godric had made many powerful allies within the Houses of Westeros and all were willing to back such a powerful Battlemage, either out of fear of his power or respect of his character. ~_

He paused for a moment, inclining his head in respect to his onetime friend and greatest rival.

 _~In the end, I was forced to raise the most powerful wards I knew, sacrificing the lifeforce of dozens of my thralls in order to withstand Godric's attempts to shatter my wards. ~_ Salazar explained, making a distasteful sound deep in his rotting throat. _~It was barely enough. ~_

Harry shuddered at that, he could just imagine the many that must have died in order to power wards strong enough to hold off a Battlemage like Godric Gryffindor as well as enough forces to lay siege to such a castle, it was not a pretty number.

 _~Undisturbed for a time, I continued my research, carving hundreds of different rune schemes in an attempt to remake my original work, it was to no avail. Without my tomes and grimoire to consult, I was very limited in what I could accomplish, forced to rely on the barest knowledge stored within my mind. ~_ Salazar sighed, shaking his head mournfully. ~ _Time passed and before I knew it, I was a frail, old man, the last years of my life wasted on an impossible project but I just couldn't give up yet. ~_

He paused once more, his bones cracking as he clenched his fist tightly.

 _~In an effort to gain more time, I delved into the blackest arts, sacrificing the lifeforce of others in order to prolong my own life. That lasted for a time but it was only a delay, I needed something more. ~_ Slytherin continued, speaking of such old and lost magics as if they were trifle matters. _~After a time, I resorted to a desperate act, I created a Horcrux, a container to hold one half of my soul. While my body rotted away over the ages, my soul remained chained to the world, my magic serving to power my decrepit old form. That was over five hundred years ago. ~_

Harry couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or awed.

Everything he had read about magic and the soul in the Slytherin house library pointed to this being a disgusting and horribly obscene act, maiming a soul in such a way was so sickening that performing such act on another would have led to the Dementors kiss for the perpetrator and a trip through the veil for their corpse.

On the other hand, this was magic that was so old and powerful that few could perform it in this day and age, not even the great and mighty Dumbledore had performed magic this powerful. Yes, it was dark and illegal but he was a Slytherin, you get used to hearing about such things after a year in that house. Still, his housemates had never spoken about anything close to this, the knowledge and power required to do such a thing, to achieve a form of immortality; well, it was quite impressive and awe-inspiring.

 _~So you've been looking for a way back all this time? ~_ Harry asked, eyes wide in wonder, he was barely managing to keep on topic after hearing of Salazar's deeds.

 _~No, it has been far too long, there is nothing for me back there except for some unknown descendants. ~_ Salazar replied, shaking his head. _~Besides, without my tomes I lack the knowledge to remake what was essentially an unlucky accident, any efforts to do so would likely land me in a worse environment. ~_

 _~Then why are you still here? You can't really leave the castle looking like that, not without an unhealthy dose of glamour's anyways, why not move on to the next life?~_ Harry asked, pushing his disappointment away. He was a little upset to hear that he couldn't return home but like Salazar, there was nothing for him back there.

His three best friends, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis, were loose acquaintances at best, that was the most you could hope for in Slytherin.

He had spent the past year being shunned and hated by the other three Hogwarts houses, there was little chance of him making any friends there. Not to mention his unearned fame and popularity with the rest of the wizarding world, he could definitely do without that.

As for his family... well, the Dursleys would probably throw a party once they learned he was gone.

A new start in a new world wasn't as terrifying as it should be, it was actually a bit of a relief.

 _~I have been waiting, waiting for you. ~_ Salazar replied, earning a wide eyed look from the young teen. _~Well... not **you** per se but someone like you, I have spent the last three centuries searching for an heir. ~_

 _~An heir? ~_ Harry asked, his eyes wide and glimmering in excitement. _'Is this going where I think it is?'_

Salazar nodded.

 _~I am the Lord Slytherin, lord of one of the most premier pureblood houses, my duty prevents me from passing on without knowing that my house will thrive once I am gone. I lost the ability to sire an heir long ago, so I have spent decades searching for someone with both the power and cunning required to lead House Slytherin. Many have come and gone but none have met my expectations, until now. ~_ the lich explained, staring right into his eyes with its hollow pits. _~Every year there are fewer and fewer born with the ability to wield magic, those with the potential squander it in a life of mediocrity and the talent is eventually bred out as they continue mixing their blood with muggles, I had almost given up hope of finding a proper heir. Had you not come along, I would have been forced to choose the next magical child I could identify, a most displeasing eventuality I assure you. ~_

Salazar paused to closely examine the boy before him, the teen was very interested in the offer.

 _~I can tell you are powerful for your age, the fact that you managed to slay my basilisk speaks volumes of that and while you may lack the proper training, there is much potential for greatness within you. ~_ the lich continued, unknowingly echoing the words of a certain wand maker and tattered old hat. _~The colours of your robes and that patch on your chest also show that you were sorted into my house, meaning that you hold the traits of a true Slytherin, the cunning and ambition require to excel in all that you set your mind to. ~_

Salazar paused once again, his head cocked to the side as he considered something else.

 _~The fact that you're also a parselmouth adds credence to my case, it is highly likely that we are related on some level. If I remember correctly, the Potters and the Slytherins are both descendants of the Peverell line, making us very distant cousins.~_ he continued, scratching his bony chin in thought. _~I am not sure about your mother's line however, the genealogies have likely changed a lot after such a long time, there are probably more than a hundred houses that did not exist in my time. Still, you will make a far better heir than any of the riffraff on this continent, I would consider taking one of Godric's descendants before touching any of these Westrosi.~_

Harry stared back in awed silence, a chance to learn from one of the founders? This was a dream come true for any modern-day witch or wizard, how many times had he heard Malfoy and many others bemoaning the fact that the founders had never left portraits to learn from? This was not a chance he could pass up, there was so much he could learn from this man, things he would have never learned in Hogwarts or wizarding Britain.

It was at this point his Slytherin cunning, honed from years of manipulating and dodging his hateful relatives, kicked in.

 _'I should probably keep my blood status a secret, if he wants to believe mum was a pure-blood then let him.'_ Harry mused, coming to a quick decision. There was very little chance that Salazar would refuse to teach him because he was a half-blood, the man had already said that he didn't have a better choice. Still, such knowledge might spoil their future relationship, making his time here more unpleasant than it would be otherwise. _'Hmm... I probably shouldn't mention anything about Slytherin house either, being weighed on the same scale as Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy and the others would do very little to help my case.'_

 _~ So, do you accept? ~_ Salazar asked after a few seconds of silence.

Harry beamed and nodded vigorously, there was no way he would pass up such an opportunity.

There would come a time when he would regret this decision, then he would shake his head and get back to work before Salazar caught him daydreaming.


	2. Chapter 2

Harrison Slytherin frowned, sweat glistening from his spores as he danced through a series of kata. His lean frame practically shaking with exertion. Littered around him were twitching mannequins, the enchantments that kept them moving beginning to fail.

The sword clutched in his hands clashed and clanged against metal, sparks flying in all directions as the heir of Slytherin was slowly being forced back, he frowned. _'Trust Salazar to push me this far.'_

The undead person of his ire stood a short distance away, his sunken grey eyes assessing his form for any discrepancies.

Harry's emerald eyes glistened with magic, a trick his adopted father had recently taught him, his considerable magic bolstered his body as his dark power blazed through him. The sword in his hand began to emit black smoke, as the tip began to sear with heat. His muscles were pumped full of his magic, that was just begging to be released in a maelstrom of fury and rage.

The mannequins pounced, their movements were crisp and robotic, instead of coming at him one by one, they fell upon him in droves, light reflecting off different assortment of weapons they held. Some with swords, others with spears. They were so caught up in their charge that they didn't notice the faint tremors coming from the ground beneath them.

In a sudden burst of exploding earth, one of the mannequins gave a shudder as a large, thin spike of hard marble levitated from the air and pierced it where its head was. The wooden structure was propelled in the air as similar spikes of marble shot up, impaling the rest of its brethren without a shred of mercy. Within a single second, the horde of transfigurated mannequins were suspended in the air as rows of razer-sharp spikes held them in place.

A resolute sound of clapping reverberated around the training ground underneath Slytherin castle, as the undead lord of the house stepped forward. _~You waste too much magic in a single spell. This will lead to your demise. ~_

Harry panted with exhaustion, using magic without his wand was taxing for him. ~ _Must I continue to learn how to use a sword? I can fell a man with words alone. ~_

Salazar exhaled tiredly, his protégée always liked to do things the easy way. The undead lich could agree with that sentiment. In his youth, before he had met the rest of the founders he had similar ideology as his adopted son.

~ _There will come a time when even your magical reserves fail you. One on one against any resident of this world and you will defeat them easily. But, against an entire house? An alliance of houses? ~_ Salazar shook his head, his moss eaten robes billowing around his skeletal form. ~ _No. You will fall in a battle of attrition. That is why if there ever comes a time when you're without your magic, you have certain contingencies and other skills to fall back on. ~_

Harry frowned as he stared into Slytherin's eyes. He would never tell the man to his face, but he was unnerved by his lack of mortality. ~ _Gryffindor's sword is not a good conduit for my magic anymore, it's becoming even more resistant since you took me up as your heir. Father, if I am to learn the way of the sword, can I not do so with another blade? ~_

~ _No other blade would be able to channel your magic. Loathe as I am to admit it, despite Godric's many idiotic tendencies, procuring a goblin made sword was tactile genius. You can either use a normal sword or keep Godric's. ~_

He glanced down at the ruby encrusted sword. Six years ago, he was in awe of the elegant script that was written in slant across the length of the blade. Now, he felt nothing but the desire to cast the sword out into the sea. Every time he wielded it, his hands would burn. It was as if, the spirit of Godric Gryffindor didn't take kindly to an heir of Slytherin using his blade.

He sheathed it across his back, glancing back towards his adopted father. ~ _So, what did you think? ~_

 _~There are signs of improvement. You have come a long way from the short, malnourished teen I saw long ago. However, there is much that needs doing. How goes your integration with the people of Westeros? ~_

 _~It is going well, with the new swell of recruits it puts us at two thousand fighting strong. ~_

It had been a long couple of years. In between training Harry, Salazar would send him on frequent diplomatic missions throughout the seven kingdoms and even to the East to acclimatise himself to the political stance of this new world and claim new thralls for their cause.

He remembered the first time he left to claim new thralls.

 **Flashback [3 years ago- Harry is 15]** :

The boy who lived walked across seas of grass, vast and distant till the eye could see. Stalls were spread out, distanced with even intervals as merchants ushered people to buy their wares.

Exotic fruits, animals, clothes, wines, even the maidenheads of girls. All were on display.

The hustle and bustle of the crowd pressing against him, cries of people permeated the air, as they spoke about the injustice of some of the prices. Gold dragons exchanged hands from person to person, greedy looks were passed frequently, and the odd grope of slave women was made apparent for all to see.

Harry just watched, his green eyes assessing.

' _Westeros is so similar to the Wizarding world.'_

And it was true, both worlds were embroiled in draconian laws. The wizarding world elite looked down on mudbloods, half-bloods, and magical creatures, whereas the Seven Kingdoms and the lands to the East looked down on those poorer than them. It was a never-ending cycle no matter where he went. The strong would always prey on the weak. Those in power would look down on those who lacked it.

' _There is no good or evil, only power… And those weak to seek it.'_ A dark grin stretched itself across his face. Voldemort was right about something.

His musings were interrupted as a hush befell the populace. The crowd dispersed as fast as it could and sweat began to pool on the brows of the merchants as the sound of galloping hooves could be heard.

In a matter of moments, the entire settlement was surrounded by tall men on horses, their dark eyes hungrily gazing at the nude females on display, with synchronised fashion, they urged their horse's closer, trotting towards the many stalls.

Harry focused on his occlumency, as he brought the knowledge Salazar had taught him to the forefront of his mind. _'Dothraki. Nomadic horse-mounted warriors, that fight with curved swords_ called arakhs. They come to places like this to procure slaves which they either keep for their khalasars or sell in Slavers Bay. They abhor easily cowed people and respect those who resist them.'

' _Father did say not to draw attention to myself, but he also told me to find thralls. This is too good an opportunity to pass off.'_

One of the men atop a black destrier dismounted. His long-braided hair swayed left and right as the wind blew ominously around the khalasar. The horses gave pitying whines as they reared as if sensing the foulness perpetuating the air.

Harry took a step forward, his gait confidant. "No further horse-lord."

The tall man stopped to glance at him, before a bellow of laughter escaped his lips. The wind died down, and the horses calmed. Now instead of them sensing foulness, they sensed laughter resonating around the site as the Dothraki dismissed the raven-haired teen as a threat.

Harry frowned before withdrawing a shaft of holly, he pressed it to his throat and gave it a tap. Harry had been unable to learn the languages his father had tried to teach him. And even the great Salazar Slytherin had a shortage of patience to offer his adopted son whose knowledge of learning new languages eluded his understanding.

"No further horse-lord." Harry said darkly, his hands resting on the ruby hilt of Godric Gryffindor's sword.

"So, the people of Lhazar flock to a boy who hasn't seen fourteen winters to be their champion?" The man spoke, his voice the paradigm of harshness. This was a man whose sole purpose was to spill blood.

Unfortunately for him, Harrison Slytherin also relished a good fight. Salazar Slytherin had been a harsh taskmaster and a perfectionist demanding nothing but the best. With just three years of tutelage under his belt, he felt more than ready to kill this barbarian.

"I champion no one but myself. You are the Khal of this khalasar are you not?"

"I am Khal Bharbo. And you are?"

Harry proffered the man a smirk that didn't reach his emerald eyes. "Dead men have no need to hear my name."

Bharbo tensed, his arakh twirling in his hand as he assumed a defensive position. His fast actions just saved his life, as Harry sent a trickle of magic through his system and covered the distance between them in an instant. The sword of Gryffindor whistling through the air as it collided with the arakh.

Khal Bharbo visibly goggled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he was pushed away from the smaller and much thinner teen.

The Khal couldn't afford to look away as the silvery hue of his opponent's sword nearly detached his head from his shoulders. He ducked, wisps of his hair were caught instead as he with great deliberateness brought his curved sword up, intent on bisecting the emerald eyed boy.

It wasn't meant to be, with skill that boys his age shouldn't possess, Harry twisted the silver sword and brought it close to his chest, with magic trickling through his arm muscles, he was more than a match for the giant Khal's strength.

SNAP!

The sword of Gryffindor couldn't be denied nor contested, especially by mortal weapons. The Khal's arakh broke cleanly in half, but Harry's strike wasn't finished, he carried on with the blow, ramming the blade through Bharbo's chest.

Silence. Pure unadulterated silence. The undefeated Khal, coughed, blood escaping from the inside of his mouth. He stumbled and fell, kneeling by Harry's feet. Every spore in his body seemed as if it was on fire. Unbeknownst to him, one of the most fast-acting and potent magical toxins now resided where his heart used to be.

He gave a couple more minute twitches before Harry withdrew his sword with an audible crunching sound as bits of sinew, bone and blood dripped from the serrated edges of the blade. Wiping the crimson substance on his tunic, he kicked the Khal away.

The man who had raped and killed hundreds had been defeated by none other than a child he had been laughing at a while before.

Harry knelt beside the man's body and withdrew a small knife. With crude form he slashed and hacked, the rest of the khalasar was visibly repulsed as one of their most sacred rituals was brutalised.

Standing to his full height, Harry let the great Khal's long-braid fall into loose curls beside his feet, before he stomped on it. Then he punted the man's head at his blood riders. Everyone could see the last look on the man's face. Pure terror and disbelief.

Harry felt inordinately smug. Withdrawing his shaft of holly and phoenix from the crevice of his inner pocket, he twirled it in his fingers as he stared down at the khalasar darkly.

"Your Kahl is dead. Slain in one on one combat by my own hand. He was leading you to ruin. Even with all his vaunted strength and undefeated status, he picked fights with people who couldn't defend themselves. He offered no glory, no riches. Except shame and ridicule. I offer you the power and status. No more will the Dothraki be set aside by the Seven Kingdoms. They will own the Seven Kingdoms!"

The khalasar was quite for a long while, before they bowed their heads, some even getting off their horses and kneeling before him. Cries of green eyed god echoed throughout the air.

Harrison Slytherin just smirked, the blood from the Khal slowly making its way down his face, giving him a demonic visage.

 *****Break*****

Unknown to the khalasar or Harry, a small child who had witnessed the fight averted its gaze, before making its way back into the bowls of the city. A certain spider would like to hear of these events, especially with what had transpired.

 *****Break*****

Lhazar was in open celebration, from the slopes of their mountain side they cried out with sheer joy and happiness as the thorn on their side had been killed, and quite brutally at that. No more would they be plagued by this Dothraki horde. Drinks were passed around and feasts were devoured.

They spoke of the green-eyed boy in soft tones, such reverence was associated with his name that come the morning, they would begin plans to erect a shrine in his honour, one to rival the Great Shepherds in magnificence.

 **Flashback end:**

Harry's emerald eyes flashed before darkening. His carefully crafted plans and webs of intrigue were beginning to span the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, his house would be above everyone else's.

The people of Westeros would either revel in his company or die at the end of his wand.

They would either have the mercy of a God, or they would stroke his anger and he would smite them. He wouldn't give second chances anymore, he was that sort of a man.

* * *

AN:

Well, I am honestly in awe at how many people have favourited, reviewed, followed and PM'ed me. I can't thank you readers enough.

All I can say is this; keep them coming, I enjoy reading the reviews!

Also, I plan on updating this fic every weekend, be it Saturday or Sunday. So, keep an eye out on that!

Some of you have messaged me or reviewed about the pairing, that is something I will leave up for interpretation although I'm kind of leaning towards Margaery. Review who you want Harry to get with!

Till next time, Uzunami 669


	3. Chapter 3

The years hadn't been kind on Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Once, he had been a man of impressive girth and size, capable of swinging his massive Warhammer with a single hand, he was the man who had single handily been revered for slaying the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in combat and dissolved the last remaining Dragon Lords from monarchy. The last of that impressive house had been exiled far to the East.

The East.

The place he had received most distressing news from his spymaster three years ago.

Robert slouched on the iron throne, the blades teased and pricked him, never giving him respite as he squirmed on the chair. Standing in front of him was the illustrious Spider- Lord Varys. And the Master of Coin, who had been elevated into the position by the word of his Hand, Lord Petyr Baelish.

"Any news?" said the king, his many chins wobbling as he spoke.

"Your grace," Came Lord Varys's simpering tones, as he gave a low bow. "My birds have scoured the entirety of Lhazar and its surrounding lands, they were unable to locate the horde of Dothraki screamers nor the child who slayed Khal Bharbo in single combat."

King Robert frowned. He was in a position of power that everyone squabbled to attain. How he wished he could go back to the way things used to be, the simpler times where all he had to worry about was pinning after his long, lost love Lady Lyanna, or training with his godbrother Eddard in the Eyrie. He shook his head, dwelling on the apparitions of the past was a sure way of getting swallowed by the intrigue and back stabbings of Kings landing.

"How could a khalasar just disappear?"

"I don't know your grace, one moment my spies were observing them, before a light flashed and there was no trace of them, no footprints, or sounds, except a loud crack."

"If I may interject, your grace, it is well known that Lhazar is situated between the Dothraki sea to the North and Slavers Bay to the South. Maybe the Dothraki after raiding the Lhazareen went back to their sacred city of Vaes Dothrak and that's why there's been no siting of them, or they departured to Slavers Bay to sell their spoils of raiding." Spoke the master of Coin, tugging at his neat goatee.

"Unlikely Lord Baelish. I've contacts in both Vaes Dothrak and Slavers Bay, not to mention there would be an uproar if Khal Bharbo's khalasar was sited so close to Mereen, Yunkai or Astapor. They did not travel anywhere close by land nor did they ride. The locals were also questioned discreetly and they seem to think it was the Great Shepheard that guided the young man's hand which slew the Khal."

"The Great Shepheard?" Replied the King, his bloated belly rising and falling after every breath he took, in his hands was clutched his customary goblet, filled to the brim with Arbor gold.

"The Great Shepheard is a deity that they worship your grace, the religion like R'hllor has priestesses that are mostly referred to as _maegi._ Some of the Lhazareen believe that the boy is the Great Shepheard reborn amongst lightning and blood magic that will usher in a new order for the entire world."

"Blood magic? Don't the Dothraki distrust and hate practitioners of magic? So, why would they follow this boy to wherever it is he took them?" Prodded the thin Master of Coin. Chaos was a ladder after all, however the person who was going to climb that ladder was going to be him and only him.

Robert took a massive gulp from his goblet, drinking deeply. "I care not for what the Dothraki believe in, only that they do not get a foothold in Westeros. They must stay in the East."

"They will your grace, the Dothraki are not accustomed to travelling by ships. As long as the Narrow Sea separates them from us, they will not cross." Spoke the bold headed eunuch. Taking care to keep the level of contempt for the man on the throne to barely minimum levels. He felt so foolish when he found out that he was responsible for Prince Rhaegar's death, if he had kept his mouth shut, then the realm wouldn't be in debt to Tywin Lannister at this current moment in time. He only hoped young Griff did a better job of preserving the realm than this oaf.

"I don't want assurances. I want results. That boy has a khalasar as an army, granted it is small, however it has the potential to swell in size. I want him found and killed, I want all talk of treason to be squashed." Spoke the fat King with finality as he drained the wine in his goblet. "Baelish, see that this happens."

"Your grace. I will draw the funds necessary to fund this assassination." Lord Baelish gave a departing bow to the King, and a slimy smirk towards the eunuch before leaving the throne room. His ledger book in hand.

"Your grace." Lord Varys also gave a bow before walking towards the doors, leaving the King to dwell on his thoughts.

 *****Break*****

"The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons."

How Harry hated that quote. It had taken large quantities of his magic just to bring the khalasar to Slytherin castle. Illusionary magic like a mass imperious curse after all wasn't his forte.

Still, they had their uses.

Cattle always did.

~ _Harry, when are you going to realise that you can't do everything by yourself, even with all your vaunted powers. ~_ Came Salazar's soft, dulcet hissing noises, to the Dothraki that were training, the voice seemed to be spoken normally.

~ _You're right father, but you are unable to channel magic, whilst your soul is impermeable to all forms of destruction, your body has long since rotted away. As of right now, I'm stuck with these minions who have no better use then to be fodder. ~_

 _~You need real allies, people to watch your back not thralls nor an army but comrades, people who you can trust inextricably and without question. ~_

 _~And where can I find people like that? It's not like they're in high demand. ~_

 _~My old friend had the right idea, look to the houses of Westeros. There will be some that know of the name Slytherin, they would have kept books on our great house. With a few careful whispers, and they will flock to our banner. Use them as Gryffindor did, and claim the seat of the Kings. ~_ Slytherin placed his cold, dead fingers on Harry's hair, and ruffled them, making them even more unruly then humanly possible.

 _~Make me proud son. ~_

 *****Break*****

Harry sat cross legged inside a matrix of detailed calligraphy that spanned throughout the entire ritual room of Slytherin Castle.

Said owner of castle hovered a couple of inches in the air, gazing intently at his charge.

~ _Slowly does it~_

The squiggly lines that surrounded the emerald eyed teen seemed to pulse at regular intervals, reaching their crescendo before erupting in a nimbus of light.

SMACK.

Harry held the back of his head, glowering at the apparition before him as his hard work simply ceased to be. The matrix of lettering stopped their pulsing and unravelled as the influx of magic that was being fed into them short-circuited.

~ _What was that for! I was so close this time, I could practically feel it! ~_

 _~No Harry, what you're attempting to do is very dangerous at the best of times and highly volatile at the worst. Wherever did you find the knowledge to take in raw, undiluted magic? Do you want to perish, you foolish boy! ~_

Harry remained silent.

~ _Taking in too much natural magic like that will lead to corrosion of your developing magical pathways. At your current stage of magical maturation, you would lose all function in channelling it. Becoming nothing more than a squib. The future of Slytherin house depends on you. ~_

 _~I depend on you… ~_

Harry still remained silent, knowing his adopted father abhorred emotion, only finding it useful when it was used in recondite magic.

The years of seclusion had rendered the greatest of the four founders on the tipping point of insanity, he was unhinged. Father and adopted son both knew this, yet they chose to ignore it.

Well Harry tended to ignore it.

Salazar was forced to subdue it.

~ _There are somethings worth doing son. Mutilating your magic should be the farthest resort you should take. The children of the forest who resided in this world succumbed to the lulls of natural magic, only their lack of restraint caused unforeseen consequences and now they are nought but a distant memory that have faded far from the minds of men. ~_

 _~ I don't want the same thing happening to you. I want men to tremble at the very name of Slytherin, I want those who have betrayed my house to be wrought into dust, only then would the debt be paid in full. ~_

And what about what I want? Harry wanted to ask him, to question the skeletal man, but something tugged at his head, subduing those feelings of displeasure. Sometimes he questioned whether he was foolish for inheriting Salazar Slytherin's ambitions but at other times he revelled in his new-found powers, without them, without being taken in by Slytherin, he would have resulted to nothing.

Closing his eyes, he tightened his occlumency barriers, smothering the feelings and memories of the past him. The weak him. The one who used to tremble at the sight of his obese uncle, the one who'd run away from his cousin's leering face, the one who was forced into slavery by his aunt.

He had been weak, love seeking, naïve.

He much preferred the new him. Powerful, intelligent, without equal. If he had to shoulder his adopted father's goals, then that's what he would do.

His emerald eyes flashed, practically wreathed in fire, before they smouldered and returned to their iconic colour, matching Lily Potter's.

~ _You must rip apart Westeros from the seams. United and they will contest you, divided and they will fall. The current monarchy has made things much easier for you. Travel to the southernmost part of Westeros, to the peninsula of Dorne. Introduce yourself to the Martell's and stoke their anger and thirst for revenge. Then go to the lands of the Tyrell's. They are ambitious enough to vie for the throne. ~_

 _~Won't these Tyrells be a threat to our regime? ~_

 _~They seek the throne. What better for them to claim it then through ties of marriage? ~_

 _~Marriage? You don't mean… ~_

 _~I do. This is my will, as my instrument, will you marry the Tyrell girl, son…? ~_

It wasn't spoken as a command, but the words betrayed his intent. It was a command, and if he didn't follow it, he would be punished harshly. He gave an involuntary shudder.

~ _Very well father, I won't fail you. ~_

Harry gave a curt nod, before turning around and leaving the skeletal man to stare at his retreating backside.

~ _See that you don't… ~_

 *****Break*****

The door to his inner sanctum opened with an audible creak, signs of disuse was apparent to anyone who came to this part of the castle.

Then again, no one would be able to tell, except the occupant of the sanctum. It was after all his ward, not even his adopted son was granted access here.

Brushing away the many cobwebs, he made his way towards a shelf, his dead eyes closed as he brushed his skeletal hands against a throbbing orb.

It whispered to him, yet still he did not touch it directly. He knew he wasn't going to like the results if he did. And no matter what he did, he just couldn't get rid of it.

The contents of the prophecy orb were going lead his demise. He knew this, every waking day he lived with those words as they tormented him, yet he would not accept his fate.

Salazar Slytherin was going to die by the hands of Harrison Slytherin. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but it would happen someday. And when it did, he would welcome his old friend, Godric Gryffindor with open arms.

~ _The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. The oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. ~_ He whispered to himself. He did not fear the boy, how could he?

The boy was his. His blood ran through his veins. His basilisks venom was etched into his skin. If the boy was going to kill him, then he wouldn't make things easy for him.

Tempering him with love could work, but subverting prophecies? That was something no one could do.

~ _I knew what he was from the beginning. I could smell the blood. The boy was made to spill blood… My blood. ~_ He said sadly or with as much sadness as a walking skeleton could muster.

* * *

AN:

To all those who PM'ed me & reviewed asking why Harry is dark.

\- Harry isn't categorised as 'evil' or 'dark' its just, he's lonely. Before he met Salazar, he was abused, disregarded, treated as a slave, etc. With Salazar he was given power, although he was disciplined. His character traits shifted to better suit his new environment. He's still Harry, but that 'good' part of him is buried under an assortment of barriers, some of his own design and others of a little cursed scar on his noggin.

The paring still isn't decided ladies and gents. Review who you want Harry to be with and why! I love reading all strands of reviews.

Any questions? Hit me up.

Till next week.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry frowned, his dishevelled hair blowing all over his face as the arid wind generated by the atmosphere of Dorne wafted through him. Tiny grains of sand peppered his face, only the protective magical bubble he had covering his eyes stopped him from becoming blind.

Harry was atop a Sand Steed, the colour of black sin. The destrier slowly trotted forwards, hooves making indents in the sandy ground below, before the tracks would blow away as the dry wind picked up in intensity.

The Sand Steed galloped with majesty as if it sensed its riders need to hurry. Rider and horse both began to slow down as the sand beneath their feet disappeared gradually, to reveal unyielding stonework as they reached the road leading to Starfall, on either side of the road great, big canopy trees shaded them from the intense heat of Dorne. As they rode closer, and closer, yellow-white sand bricks of the ancestral Dayne home rose up into prominence: Walls the shade of rich violet and sunset orange, windows looming high in the sky were covered in curtains the colour of blood, terraced floors filled with preserved plants, glass paintings pressed into sunken walls.

Starfall was truly a sight to behold. The ancestral seat of house Dayne stood tall and proud, its white marble stones gleamed in the Dornish sun, lighting up like a beacon in the darkest of times. Some Dornishmen said the reason for this glow was due to a magic stone descending from the very heavens. Others rebuffed these outrageous claims as a jape, they couldn't be farther from the truth.

The home was surrounded by a thin sheen of black crystal tightly woven together, as the sun hit the gate it would reflect back on any passer-by's making for an excellent defence against invaders. Atop the gate was a single guard, but rather than go that way Harry's horse steered him to the right to a more fortified gate.

There Harry rang a ringing bell. Not soon after that, was there a servant women who was summoned. She seemed apprehensive to let him in, before Harry sighed audibly, reached into the folds of his tunic and withdrew a shaft of Holly. He pressed it to the women's face and fired off a compulsion charm at blank range. His actions granted him immediate passage, his task complete, he sheathed his wand. From the outer courtyard, he was led to one of the smaller, more intimate meeting halls and offered a seat in the low armchairs present. The servant girl made to take his sword from him, only to be visibly repelled by the dark look emanating from his emerald eyes.

A short while later, more than one servant appeared again, this time their hands were occupied with glasses of mulled wine, Dornish red, orange and pineapple juice. And an assortment of fresh dates and cheeses, all of which were refused by Harry. After all, he hadn't watched them be prepared. If there was one thing Salazar preached and repeatedly drilled into his head, it was without a shadow of a doubt, constant vigilance.

Vorian Dayne, the deceased Sword of The Morning's eldest brother and heir to House Dayne appeared after all the servants had left. His blonde hair showed signs of greying, while his face remained cleanly shaven. His eyes darted across to gaze upon Harry, signs of his displeasure becoming more and more apparent. His eyes travelled to the sword strapped on Harry's shoulder, especially the red ruby on the hilt. Much to Harry's surprise and the heir of House Dayne's tenseness, following closely behind Vorian was Lady Ashara Dayne.

Vorian's stare was frosty as he glared down at Harry, barely acknowledging his sister as she came up behind him except the minute tenseness of his shoulders. He knew that sword, his family knew that sword. The whole of Dorne knew that sword. Especially the connotations behind it. That sword and its past owner had been responsible for the rise and prominence of House Lannister. And he despised that house with every fibre of his being. The whole of Dorne did. Vorian's fury was partially born of Elia and her children's deaths, as he was a close friend of the Red Viper-Prince Oberyn Martell. Similarly, in assessment, Ashara zealously ignored looking at Harry, as if it pained her greatly to gaze upon him. Instead she looked curiously at his sword.

Harry braced himself, his magical senses being expelled outwards ready to attack or defend.

"What is a progeny of Gryffindor house doing in Starfall." Vorian spat the name Gryffindor with such disdain and venom that it elicited a jump from Ashara.

"I am no offspring of Godric Gryffindor. My father is the man's greatest rival. I was sent here by him to seek aid in the houses that have been wronged."

"And who is your father boy?"

"Salazar Slytherin."

Insurmountable silence greeted his outrageous claim.

"Surely you jest? Salazar Slytherin has long since perished, it's impossible that you are his son."

Harry nodded his head, before he withdrew his trusty holly and phoenix wand. Aiming at the ground, he verbally announced;

 _Serpensortia_ [Snake summon]

The end of his wand exploded. Vorian and Ashara watched aghast as they saw from the tip of Harry's wand expelled a milk snake in a flash of white light. It was 54 inches long, with smooth and shiny scales. The colour scheme was red-black-yellow. It's slit for eyes gazed at Vorian and Ashara before settling on Harry's. With a burst of speed, it attached itself on his shoulders, forked tongue sampling the air.

The cries of parseltongue were exchanged between snake and owner before the magic feeding the transfiguration construction dissipated, causing it to vanish.

"What in the…!" Hollered Vorian, nearly going to summon his guards.

"I am Slytherin's heir and son. Like I said before, I was tasked to come to Dorne and seek vengeance upon the houses that have wronged both of our lines. I suggest you sit down Lord Dayne, for what I'm about to discuss with you will be more than profitable for all the parties involved."

"How did you do that? And can it be taught?" Spoke Lady Ashara for the first time since she entered the room.

Harry stared at her appraisingly. She was beautiful, tall with a lithe figure, age hadn't diminished her beauty in the slightest. Long dark hair fell in droves to the small of her back and haunting violet eyes catched his emerald ones.

"My lady, that was magic, and yes it can be taught. My father and I have come up with a way to pass on the gift to a trusted few."

Vorian scoffed. "Magic? boy, such forces have been proven as farces by the Citadel. If magic did exist, it died out with the dragons and the likes of Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now magic is just a tale mothers tell their kids to get them to behave. Like the Others."

Harry rose to his full size, the Dursley's treatment on his psyche and body had been rectified by Salazar's potion knowledge. Before he was malnourished, short and scrawny. Now though, he stood at 6 foot 2. There was an audible gulp from Vorian as the Lightning lord walked ominously towards him. When he reached him, Vorian realised something.

The boy's size and stature didn't do him justice. It was the lightning scar atop his brow that seemed to pulsate an eerie red that captivated the Lord of Starfall. He fell quiet.

"Lord Dayne, I am many things but a liar? Don't tarnish me as such. Magic has returned to this world and I am its avatar. The hammer that will rectify the wrongs of the past. Especially with what happened to Lady Elia. A great injustice…"

The atmosphere in the room became sombre as soon as the name escaped his lips.

"What do you know of Elia?" Spoke Vorian angrily.

"She was killed by one of Tywin Lannister's bannermen. Her children butchered and her body desecrated. My father wants to exact vengeance on Gryffindor's cadet branch and I know House Martell would love to see Gregor Clegane's head rest on a hot iron spike.

"Prince Doran would never declare for you."

"No. He wouldn't but Prince Oberyn would be able to convince him."

"Prince Oberyn shows deference to Prince Doran, if Doran says no, then Dorne will not ally with you."

"Prince Oberyn can be swayed by Lady Ashara. After all, how else do you think the lady of Starfall became Princess Elia's handmaiden. Coincidence? Unlikely with how protective the Princes were of Elia. Ashara and Oberyn have always been quite close, what better way to ensure Dorne joins the fray."

"What are the chances of victory if Dorne joins with you? The iron throne has the full might of the North, Vale, Stormlands, Westerlands not to mention mercenaries and their contemporaries with how much money Tywin Lannister would pay to destroy us completely." Spoke Vorian.

"Our chances would increase by a good amount Lord Dayne. For my father and I are also growing our army."

"With what soldiers?"

Harry kept the annoyance from his face and tone, it wouldn't do to push allies away and make enemies, especially when he couldn't afford to do so, but Vorian's temerity and questioning his judgement was starting to get his wand in a knot. "I plan to travel throughout the continent of the East. There are many sell-sword groups that would like nothing more than to profit from war."

Vorian gave him a flinty look as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Mercenaries?"

Harry nodded. "Mercenaries."

"You do realise boy, that house Lannister possesses more money than any other house in Westeros! Any mercenaries we buy, Tywin will pay double! They can't be trusted."

"That might have been true a long time ago, but house Lannister is in decline. Their gold mines have long since run out and they owe money to the iron bank of Braavos. I plan on going to the iron bank as well, they'll be more than happy to fund our war effort when they find out we have the means to pay every gold dragon that was borrowed from them back."

"That's it?"

"Not even close. The Tyrells will also join us, with them, Dorne, the mercenaries that will be hired, the Dothraki khalasar that's in my service and the iron bank's funding, we'll have more than enough forces to contest Robert Baratheon's leadership."

"You've thought this through."

"Lord Slytherin has a long memory. And has had plenty of time to think."

Vorian turned to look at Ashara who sat in contemplative silence. Brother and sister of Starfall exchanged an entirety of a conversation in the span of an eye blink.

"I'll send Oberyn a letter. Asking to meet." Ashara gave him a piercing look.

"For Elia." She said softly.

"For Elia." Repeated Vorian.

Harry smirked, his emerald eyes shining. "For Princess Elia."

' _Well, that was easy, I didn't have to reveal too much of our plans or even have to use magic to manipulate them. Step one complete father.'_

 *****Break*****

Miles and miles away, atop Aegon's Hill lay a formidable looking keep. It was comprised of pale red stones, with seven massive drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts. Massive curtain walls surrounded the keep, preventing any intrusions. There were nests and crenulations engraved deep into the red stones, the tell-tale signs of arrowheads gleamed when the sun rose and set. Archers were common around those parts of the castle.

Thick stone parapets, some four inches high, protected the outer edges of the Red Keeps ramparts, if the populace were to look up they would see tall spikes that had the faces of traitors in agony rotting away under the unyielding sun.

Inside this particular castle, near the top, was the bedroom of the King and Queen's firstborn daughter. She was classified as a quintessential Lannister, golden curls, emerald eyes, full ruby lips. She was described by her favourite uncle as having all of her mother Queen Cersei's beauty, but none of her temperament.

At the cusp of womanhood, she had suitors from all the Seven Kingdoms. It was due to this that she was in her room, away from her mother and father arguing.

King Robert had told her that she was to be wed and soon.

Queen Cersei hadn't taken kindly to that and threatened him with death should he even think of the notion to separate mother from daughter.

Myrcella Baratheon frowned as she gazed outside. Outside her open window, soft, fluffy clouds melted into blue summer sky. Birdsong gently tweeted away in nearby trees. A faint breeze ruffled the lush grasses, wafting up through the window and playing with a long strand of Myrcella's blonde hair, flicking it this way and that — a constant reminder that she was in here and not out there.

She turned away sadly. Sometimes she hated having royalty thrusted upon her, she would gladly give it all up to explore the outside world.

It called to her. The outside — it called to her in a voice she knew well — the call to adventure — to explore.

There was a knock on her door.

"Enter." She said, her melodious voice reverberating around her spacious room.

A servant entered, in his hands was a jewellery box. A lone bit of parchment was on top.

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the servant. It was her nameday in a couple of days, and she knew her favourite uncle hadn't forgotten.

She glided to the jewellery box [after all Princesses didn't run.] Dainty fingers reached for the parchment and read.

 _Dear beloved niece,_

 _I pray this gift reaches you before your nameday._

 _You've religiously complained about being compared to your blessed mother. Hopefully this will detract from that notion._

 _Hope to see you soon,_

 _Your uncle imp Tyrion._

She couldn't help but giggle. Her uncle regardless of her mother complaining about him, was a bright light in her dark days.

Gently prying the jewellery box open, she saw a diadem that seemed to unnaturally call to her, as if whispering to her to place it on her head. The diadem seemed innocent but inside lurked a hidden danger, the blue sapphire shaped like an oval seemed to pulsate as it captured the young girls undivided attention.

Etched upon its surface was a famous quote thought long lost. " _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."_

Thinking nothing of it, she put it on.

.

.

.

And the whole room shook as a violent scream escaped the young girls throat, she clawed at her face, raking her nails hard enough to draw rivets of blood.

Anything to end the pain she fell.

Her cries subsided after a while, unusually no one had heard her cries.

The girl now stood, and walked to the window, staring at the environment below, a cruel sneer that shouldn't be on her face spread like wildfire.

Red eyes reflected back to her in the glass of the Red Keep's windows.

' _I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.'_

* * *

AN:

DUN! DUN! DUN!

How did Ravenclaw's diadem get to Westeros? Well, take an estimated guess ~ correct guesses get rewards! (;

Any questions? Review them!

As usual, please review, favourite, follow. I love reading all strands of reviews.

Till next week.


	5. Chapter 5

Palpable anger blossomed across her face. Blonde hair tied in a braid for practicality and hand outstretched. The owls above her hooted as the moonlight refracted throughout the clearing.

It just wasn't working…

His magic refused to coarse throughout her body, it was as if something was impeding him from accessing any of his innate magic.

Not even Salazar Slytherin's coveted gift of conversing with snakes seemed to work. He was in all sense of the word a _squib!_

He clenched her eyes tight shut. No, now wasn't the time to vent about his magic, or lack of it. He was smart, resourceful, cunning. Attributes worthy of Slytherin's heir apparent.

He might not have had access to his considerable reserves of magic, but what did he currently have access to?

Well he was in the body of some _princesses._

A _girl!_

Oh, how he detested the capricious creatures. But unfortunately, he had to make do with what he had.

His precious horcrux was still atop the girl's head and whilst he could use it as a foci, the girl's body suffered from extreme aversion from it. And with how long it took to fully synchronise with a host, using the horcrux to channel his magic in excess would cause the girl to die and his fractioned soul to become trapped in its metal prison again.

Something which he refused to accept. He had only recently left the confines of the diadem.

A sigh escaped her bow shaped lips. He didn't even have access to his occlumency! Nor his legilimency.

The girl was next to useless as well. Weak, soft. Qualities he absolutely abhorred in someone, but the most galling factor was that the girl wasn't even first in the line of succession to inherit the seat of power.

This so called 'iron throne.'

A derisive sneer was etched across her face, a look that was so hauntingly abnormal that it didn't suit the normally well-mannered girl.

No, if he couldn't finalise his plans, then he was going to find inroads to do so here in this realm. And eradicate anyone who stood in his way. From what he had gleamed from the girl's memories it was that 'Westeros' was truly similar yet vastly different to what he was accustomed to in the Wizarding World. Without access to his magic, he would have to use the girl's high birth position to accelerate his plans.

The subjugation of anyone or anything even remotely linked to muggles.

Without magic, his task was infinitely more difficult but not impossible. The high born ruled over those that were poorer and were of lesser station then them, looking down on them. He could use this and plant the seeds of dissent, sit back and watch them come into fruition.

Her eyes gleamed red. The irony not lost on him.

'I was a half-blood, who was the master of purebloods. Now, I'm a pureblood, who will be the master of lowborn.'

There would be thorns in his side, the girl had two siblings, both boys. And if somehow they suffered from 'accidents' then the girl's two uncles would compete to be crowned.

He wasn't even going to mention the girl's mother. The Queen and her own brother fornicated quite frequently. And his current body was the by-product of _incest._

They would have to die. If the purity of the girl's blood came into question then his budding plans would come crushing down.

Yes. They would have to die. _All of them._

The tiny niggling voice of the girl whispering that they were her family was roughly squashed.

Such sentimentalises never stayed his hand before. Her eyes flashed a crimson red. So, why ever should they stop him now?

Myrcella Baratheon glided away from the clearing, travelling back the way she came. Towards the Red Keep.

 *****Break*****

The storeroom of the Red Keep was plain and bereft of colour. Dusty dragon motifs were scattered haphazardly and bones of antient wyverns were deposited without care, which caused them to turn brittle and break off with age.

It had after all been nearly nineteen years since the King's rebellion had succeeded and overthrown the Dragon Lords.

Footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the large cavernous room.

The latch to the door opened, and walked in a beautiful specimen of the Lannister family. Bright emerald eyes the colour of jade, bow-shaped ruby lips, blonde hair falling to the small of her back.

She was a sort of beauty that men would fight wars over and she wouldn't even bat an eye.

He had poured over numerous dusty books, trying to find any conclusive reasoning as to why he couldn't access his magic. Only to come to the startling realisation that there wasn't any magic _anywhere!_

Bending the elements with a flick of the wrist didn't exist here.

Everyone here was a _muggle!_

He had fallen into a right stupor and nearly killed Ser Pounce before rationality had hit him. Scrounging the Red Keep's library, he had come across a book detailing the genealogy of the Targaryen dynasty.

And their Dragons.

His hopes restored, he had attempted to find any dragon eggs to hatch so he could cultivate their heartstrings to fashion himself a wand.

His hopes were dashed once more when he carried on reading a few days later, only to find out that dragons hadn't soared in the skies in over three hundred years.

Becoming despondent in his stewed anger, he had nearly foolishly decided to use the magic of his horcrux when inspiration had struck.

Inhabiting the stronghold of the Targaryens had led him to the storeroom. It was after all where King Robert had placed the dragon remains as his first command as King.

She didn't count the murder of the previous Princess and her children. It was her grandfather who had acted that command out after all.

Entering the room fully, she looked around, eyeing the dragon remains with thinly veiled excitement.

There was no thrum of warmth to greet her. Not even a spark of light that denoted magic. Only dead, skeletal dragons. She had held different lengths of bone, from an assortment of dragons, each and every time had failed to light the sparks of his magic.

Her anger roused, she picked up a Dragon the size of a small cat and lobbed it hard across the storeroom. It smacked against the wall with a sickening finality, the bones spraying in all directions as a loud noise emitted from the cause of impact.

"Who goes there?"

.

.

.

Eyes narrowed, he wracked the girl's memories to identify who had spoken.

It wasn't a guard, he knew this for a fact, no guard travelled this far underground. The voice was baritone, cultured and very apprehensive.

'The Lord of the Vale. Jon Arryn. Hand of the King.'

He cursed mentally. The door to the storeroom had been left open due to his haste and greed.

There was nowhere to hide, not that he was going to. After all he had nothing to fear, his soul was deeply entranced in the Princesses body. Detection was impossible.

"Myrcella!? What are you doing down here and at this hour of night?!"

Head downcast and eyes glistening with tears, Tom Riddle was a master at charming people, if he had been born as a girl, he _knew_ Dumbledore himself would have fallen for his charisma. Poor Lord Arryn in comparison didn't stand a chance.

"I was just exploring, I wanted to get away from it all." He gave a hiccup for good measure, as her chest heaved up and down. Whoever said Tom Riddle couldn't give a performance didn't know him before he had become Lord Voldemort. He had a gift for theatrics after all.

The Lord of the Vale walked closer to the Princess, his time in Robert's Rebellion had led to a noticeable limp in his right leg that caused him deliberating pain as it shot across his body. He was slowly dying, yet he had no qualms with death. His only few regrets were that he wished he had fostered his ward Robert Baratheon better, maybe if he had, then the man's son wouldn't grow up to be such a… Cunt.

Joffrey Baratheon tormented Tommen and Myrcella both. With the Queen coddling the boy, and Robert ignoring him, he sought to hurt his siblings. The realm would suffer dearly once Joffrey ascended to the throne.

Jon placed his hands on the princess to assure her of her plight only instead of the tears abating as he had hoped, Myrcella had stiffened. And he could has sworn her eyes had flashed red.

The tone of voice that came from the princess was one he hadn't heard before. It was high and cold.

"Remove your hand from my person this very instance."

Jon removed his hand as if burnt. The cute girl that he had rocked on his knee was nowhere to be seen. Princess Myrcella seemed different, her gait oozed superiority and her eyes…

Her eyes were the colour of fresh blood.

He cursed his moment of weakness, but he couldn't help it. The thought of someone's hand on him had brought back all the feelings his occlumency had helped smother, only without his magic, the memories rushed to the forefront of his mind.

 _A young shivering Tom laying on his lumpy mattress, a hole-filled blanket draped across him as it fought to keep the elements at bay._

 _A garden snake hissing at him, his first friend._

 _Jeering faces of adolescent teens looming over him as they beat him._

 _Hearing about his mother and father. How his mother had succumbed to childbirth rather than fight for him, how his filthy muggleborn father had cast his mother and him out, leaving them to fend for themselves._

 _His snake being killed._

 _Using his magic to punish those who harmed him._

 _The headmaster branding him as a kleptomaniac during their first meeting._

 _Exacting his revenge on his father, grandfather and grandmother._

 _Delving deep into the intricacies of magic._

 _Starting from the bottom with a lowly muggle name getting picked on by the spoilt purebloods in Slytherin house to becoming their master and branding them as cattle to fuel his agenda._

 _The feeling of anger and rage welling up in him as he stared at the old man in front of him, the only thing separating them was his oak table littered with smoke emitting instruments, paperwork and a perch which was empty of the man's phoenix familiar._

 _Getting rejected from teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at the institute he called home. The twinkly eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles taunted him with his failure as he was ushered out of the man's office._

 _The last memory he had was walking towards the seventh floor, turning on the floor thrice to form the door to the room of requirement and beginning the ritual to break apart his soul to place into Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem._

She staggered back, her hands on her forehead as she kept the memories at bay.

"Myrcella?"

He looked at the old man, oh how he wished he had his yew wand. With two syllables, he could have dealt with the pest. No matter. He had other methods even if they were cruder in comparison to his favourite curse.

"Myrcella?" Jon Arryn repeated again, taking measured steps closer to the frozen princess.

Unnatural red eyes stared at him, pinning him in place.

"I'm sorry." If it wasn't for the upturn of her lips, he might have believed her.

"Sorry for what!?" What was going on? The Hand of the King had no idea.

A rictus formed across the Princesses face, her eyes darkening in intensity, becoming even more redder if that was possible.

"For this."

The air became colder progressively. The brackets containing torches all blew out, basking the room in darkness. As this was going on, from the Princess a shadow coalesced into form.

Tom Riddle surveyed his ghostly figure, he was taking a very calculating risk but it had to be done. Tethering himself to the Princess he had forged a link that bound them together. She wouldn't remember this thankfully, but he would remain dormant in his horcrux till he was worn by her again.

He glided towards the blind Hand of the King and wafted into his open mouth, ears and nostrils which elicited a scream from the man. He hit the unforgiving ground wreathing in pain.

Agony. That's all he felt. Every inch of his skin burnt, clenching and unclenching his hands, Lord Jon Arryn prayed in his final moments. He hadn't even got the chance to repent for his crimes before his end had come.

Death was unexpected like that, waiting for no man.

With a few last convulsions, the man who could have saved the damned Princess died, his clenched fingers turned slack and thudded to the floor, moving no more.

A tendril of shadow escaped his still open lips to travel to the heavily breathing Princess a few steps away. As the fractured spirit entered the pulsating diadem, Myrcella Baratheon passed out, as she crumpled to the hard, cold floor. The hold the diadem had on her head detached and rolled away gently.

 *****Break*****

King Robert was in an impotent rage.

His Hand had seemingly perished from natural causes and his only daughter was found beside him, sound asleep.

Jon Arryn's body was not yet cold before the voice of his wife had screeched at him to give the position of hand to Tywin Lannister.

He had to down a few goblets of wine to tune her out. If he hadn't, he would have shown her how far the rubies from the Dragon Prince had flown.

He couldn't afford to show weakness, he was King, yet he wanted nothing more than to break down crying. He had lost his mentor figure and father all in one.

How was he to tell Ned…

Ned…

Ned!

Fuck Tywin Lannister. He didn't need the man, well he needed his money but he wasn't going to let that bother him. He had after all a trip to plan. And who better to fund it then his beloved wives father.

 *****Break*****

The bells of Kings landing sounded as the Lord of Arryn was put to rest in the Sept of Baelor.

Not soon after, ravens were dispatched to Lords of great and lesser houses, all over the Seven Kingdoms.

King Robert only cared for one raven.

The raven heading North to his brother in all but blood.

* * *

AN:

Well last chapter sure garnered a reaction.

"You killed this fic!"

"Why is voldie back!"

"I'm not reading anymore!"

Aww, I have my reasons as to why he's back, how he's back, etc. If you don't like those reasons when they're explained then feel free to regale me with your woes.

For those who left before I explain my reasoning? Don't let the door hit you on your way out.

Any questions about the chapter? Pairings? Etc. Hit me up in the reviews, or PM's.

As always, review, favourite, follow! I enjoy all strands of reviews!

Till next week.


	6. Chapter 6

The newly opened letter rested in his hands as he assessed the words written by his closest confidante, someone who he cared for dearly but had no choice but to let go.

Maybe if things hadn't derailed so much, she would have been his paramour instead of Ellaria.

The Red Viper closed his eyes as the ghosts of his past made themselves known.

The day where everything changed.

 _Flashback_

Harrenhal, the abode of Lord Whent's tourney. Some minstrels would say it was the Realm's finest tournament ever held, others spoke in hushed tones of Lord Whent's ginormous castle and horde of gold dragons stashed away to even fund such an extravagant event.

The prize money offered for competing let alone winning was a staggering amount that exceeded even that of Lord Tywin's tourney of Lannisport.

Fifteen-thousand gold dragons for the runners up, and fifty-thousand for the winner. It was no wonder that hundreds of thousands of people turned up, lulled by the greed of possessing that gold. Hedge knights, landed knights, sellswords, members of the illustrious Kingsguard, even the Crown Prince himself was in attendance!

Outside of the great castle that still showed signs of being scorched by Aegon's dragon fire were tents that had been erected, housing an assortment of people desiring to compete or to watch the tourney with their loved ones. People of varying stations be they poor or rich milled around the numerous stalls, buying wares and basking in the merriment that the false spring provided.

Inside the splendour castle was the tourney's opening ceremonies.

Lord Walter Whent sat in the centre chair at the high table, beside him sat his wife, the Lady Shella Whent. And sat to her left was their daughter, the Lady Saya Whent.

In attendance of the great hall were members of the Great Houses of Westeros. Lannisters, Starks, Baratheons, Martells, Tyrells, Targaryens. Anyone of importance in the Seven Kingdoms were in this hall. They had to be. After all, when their prince summoned them, they made sure to arrive. Not that many of them knew of this impromptu summoning.

The Crowned Prince Rhaegar sat beside his wife Princess Elia. A sombre sadness seemed to emanate from him, for a man of such young age he seemed to shoulder the burdens of the entire realm with how tense he was. And there was a very good reason for his tenseness.

For by the door was Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan Selmy and the Sword of The Morning - Ser Arthur Dayne, flanking them was his _beloved_ father. King Aerys Targaryen.

Silence seemed to perpetuate from the hall as all talk ceased. Some onlookers even had the grace to stare at the King. The King who had let himself go.

A couple of years ago, the realm would have cheered and toasted Aerys of the House Targaryen. The man had brought years of peace and prosperity after all. Lord Whent himself would even have graciously accommodated his king, now though relations were soured between the Targaryen King and his subjects. The defiance of Duskendale had changed Aerys considerably.

The defiance coupled with Queen Rhaella's miscarriages had changed the King. And not in a good way. He was but a shadow of his former self. His once great friendship between Tywin Lannister was on the brink of ruinous termination.

The damage inflicted upon the friendship was about to become irrepressible.

Ser Jaime Lannister had risen exponentially throughout the ranks of warfare. He was a born swordsman having no affinity for politics or court intrigue rather he preferred sword-fighting and jousting for he had a natural flair for them both. It was for that reason that he desired to be elevated into the Kingsguard. He could enjoy what he loved and be closer to Cersei. If joining the Kingsguard also allowed him to escape Lord Hoster's ambitions of joining the Houses of Tully and Lannister together then he would bend the knee to Aerys gladly.

If only the young lion knew what he was signing up for, if he had, he wouldn't have joined. After all the vow of a Kingsguard member was for life and only death would relieve them of their sacred trust.

King Aerys eyed the kneeling boy before him.

 _'Tywin's spawn.'_

His head bent low Jaime spoke, "Your grace, there are traditionally seven members of the Kingsguard, I wish to fill the space of Ser Harlan Grandison." Had Jaime looked up he would have seen the first emotion Tywin exhibited since Lady Joanne had died.

A simple widening of the eyes.

This was a slight he would not forgive. Taking his heir from him was going to be met with swift retribution. Friendship or not. King or not.

Aerys gave Tywin a smirk, his purple eyes glinting with unrestricted insanity. This was perfect. His overreaching servant was going to be taken down a couple of notches. What better way to humble him then to strip him of his whole heir.

The King's fingers cupped Jaime's chin, the ungroomed nails cut into his skin so hard that he had to force himself not to cry out. Green eyes met purple. Insanity met trepidation.

"Yes… You'll make an excellent addition to my Kingsguard."

Ser Gerold Hightower unclasped the white cloak attached to his back. And wrapped it around Jaime.

Jaime couldn't help but think of a noose as the cloak descended and trapped him under its weight. Soon he would be trapped under its many oaths. He only hoped Cersei knew just what he was giving up for her.

"Do you swear to defend the King from harm or threat?"

Jaime's heart thrummed in his chest. All his life he had desired to be a renowned knight and here he was beginning to be inducted into the most prestigious knightly organisation in the Seven Kingdoms. A organisation that had Ser Arthur inducted into their ranks.

"I do."

"Do you swear to grant the King counsel when asked and keep silent when not?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to serve the King's pleasure?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to defend the King's name and honour?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to keep chastity and maintain it?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to withhold from fathering children and resinising your claim to any lands or titles?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to if directed by the King to provide the protection of the Kingsguard to family members, wives, sons, heirs, daughters. Even give your life for theirs if need be?

"I swear it."

"Then rise Ser Jaime Lannister and take your place in King Aerys's Kingsguard."

Polite applause met the Lord Commanders words as Jaime stood, behind him the white cloak that denoted him as Aerys's servant billowed in the warm air that the false spring provided.

Jaime couldn't help but look at his father, expecting a sliver of pride, yet when he caught his father's golden eyes gazed upon him, he couldn't help but see profound sadness.

The King raised his hand and the applaud silenced at once. In the Targaryen's hands was a goblet of arbor gold, drunk by someone else before it was raised to his lips of course.

"Congratulations are in order for my Hand Tywin, a new Heir to Casterly Rock ascends to the position. What was his name again?"

Tywin kept his emotions under check. The only sign of his displeasure was a tightening around his lips.

"Tyrion."

"Ah, yes. Tyrion. The dwarf of Casterly Rock born to Joanne." Aerys punctured his harsh words by looking at Tywin directly. All around them people sniggered and openly laughed at the Lion's ribbing.

None louder than them was Aerys. His mad cackles reverberating around Harenhall's walls.

The Mad King's cries eventually stopped as he addressed the new member of his guard, "Jaime, pack your arms and armour and make haste to Kings landing. The Queen and Prince require protection. And who better to protect them then a lion."

Jaime was indecisive. He had hoped to claim prestige by competing in the tournament but seeing the King command him to leave for Kings landing he realised that his inauguration was fraught and false. The King just desired to use him to wheedle his father.

His head bent low and resigning himself to his new-found fate, he nodded and rose to stand when hope bloomed in his chest.

"Your Grace, if I may. Ser Jaime could remain at Harenhall and I would depart in his steed if it pleases you?" Spoke Ser Gerold Hightower. The man was known under many monikers, the White Bull, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard however nothing pleased the man more than being addressed as 'Ser Gerold.'

Aerys continued to look at Tywin. Pleasure writ across his face. "No. Jaime is to leave. This is the King's command."

Jaime merely bobbed his head in acquisition, before departing from Harrenhal's halls. The white cloak swaying behind him with sickening finality. All hope of his father coming to his rescue was rinsed away. The Lion was at the mercy of the Dragon.

Lord Whent stood from his podium, wine goblet clutched in his hands as he toasted the Lords and Ladies in the hall. "The tourney of Harenhall is officially open!"

At his intonation couples rose to dance to the thrums and beats of singers.

Prince Rhaegar proffered a hand to his Lady wife, gripping onto it lightly, Elia and he made their way to the centre and began a slow dance much to the delight of the people watching.

Except for one.

If looks could kill then the Prince would have suffered a thousand deaths. King Aerys wasn't happy with his progeny, especially with his schemes to usurp him from power. Like Tywin, Rhaegar needed to be humbled. Disposed of if it came to it. He already had another heir to carry on his legacy if things came to that conclusion after all.

"My lady, may I have the honour of having the first dance?"

Lady Ashara looked up into the visage of Barristan the Bold, the saviour of the King and gave him her hand in acquisition.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, Prince Oberyn Martell was displeased at the turn of events, especially when after the song ended and the dance partners changed, Ashara then began to dance with Lord Jon Connington.

 *****Break*****

Ashara needed a cold refreshment. All the dancing that she had undergone had begun to strain her legs and she knew that once the night was out, they would be even more tired as the line of suitors wanting to dance with her hadn't diminished in the slightest.

Being the sister to the Sword of the Morning granted her with precognition, someone was stalking her clandestinely. She turned around to face her would be assailant only to come face to face with the Knight of High Hermitage.

"You should have stayed in the hall, Ashara."

The voice, reeking with malice and ill intention shook Ashara from her stupor. Her cousin walked out from the shadows concealing him, his boyish face still half hidden underneath his long silver hair, however his two dark eyes were visible and they gazed into her own violet ones. He had not yet matured, but already the man's name was synonymous with cruelty and danger.

 _'Do not give him what he wants… Show no emotion,'_ she urged herself. "What are you doing _here,_ cousin?"

He gave her a smile that reached everywhere but his eyes. A smile was meant to belay honest intention and invoke happiness, but when this man's muscles moved accordingly on his face, there was no warmth, only a promise of something darker. "There seems to be dissent among the rabble of Starfall. I found it wise to come here. By the grace of the King."

"You have no place in Starfall nor the right to come here." She told him firmly. Not yielding in the slightest. "You are merely a Knight of High Hermitage."

The beautiful man held his chest in mocked pain. "That hurt cousin. Careful with your barbed words, I might hurt you back…"

The Lady of Starfall refused to take her eyes away from this man, not even when every part of her body beseeched her to run away and hide from his malice filled gaze. "You shouldn't have come here. I want you gone come the morning."

"Shouldn't have come?" He gave a tentative chuckle. "I have more right to be in this burnt keep than any other man. House Dayne is in turmoil and falling into decline. With your precious brother taking up the Kingsguard oath and forsaking family duty for honour and your other brother unable to sire any more children. He's of no use to House Dayne. I am of use to House Dayne. You _need_ me."

His derisive tone and the attempted taunts of tarnishing her brothers invoked a feeling of intense anger in Ashara. "My brother might not be able to sire any more heirs, but that doesn't matter. He already has a son to take up the mantle of our House!"

A smirk blossomed across his face, cruel and evil in design as he took small measured steps forward. His greater height coupled with hunched shoulders made him seem as a predator hunting its prey. His warm breath washed over Ashara's face, smelling of Dornish red. However, it wasn't his breath that raised the hair on her arms, but the confession of his words. "Infants die all the time."

Her hand moved, piercing the air as it reached its destination. A resonating smack sounded as Darkstar clutched his cheek. "You wouldn't dare harm him!"

The look in his dark eyes gave Ashara all the evidence she needed. This was a man who would kill without feeling a shred of remorse which caused her to shudder. He grinned, his pearly white teeth bared for her to see. With a quickness few men possessed, he held her around the shoulders and pressed her against the nearby wall, their faces almost touching with the intimacy of lovers. "How long do you think House Dayne will last as it is, without a strong leader? It will become easy pickings for our rivals. Face it Ash, you need me."

Despite the cold press of his hands, Ashara refused to cower. "Even if my brothers died, then I would be the one to inherit Starfall. And if I did, _I_ would cast you out with nary a thought, like the mad dog you are."

He leaned into her personal space as a full bellow laugh escaped his lips. " _You?_ You're a woman, whose only good for breeding. Any children you do sire will only usurp Starfall from the Dayne's," Suddenly the smirk was washed away from his face only to be replaced by something else. His hands moved from Ashara's shoulders down to her bodice, trailing small circles along her exposed flesh. "However, if you were to marry a fellow Dayne… We could both end up very happy."

Ashara pushed Gerold away in disgust. "I would rather die a hundred deaths than suffer you as a husband!"

Darkstar seemed as if he was going to have a tantrum; His entire body spasmed uncontrollably as if he was afflicted with something. Ashara was unable to tell if it was with fury or anticipation. He looked at her with his purple eyes, so dark that they seemed black, and smiled. "Oh, dear cousin you will suffer. If you think your delusions of friendship with Elia Martell will save you, then I advise you to rethink those notions. There is a storm brewing and you are on the wrong side. Cherish your family and the ancestral home, because soon, it will all belong to me."

With that parting comment, Ashara couldn't help but lean on the cold wall for support as she dwelled on her brothers. One in service to a madman, and the other a shadow of his former self, her sister and nephew were too young to realise the unforeseen dangers. There was no Elia to gift her with friendship, no Sword of the Morning to lean on for strength and no one to inspire love.

"My lady, I wondered where you went to."

Ashara wiped the traitorous tears that were beginning to fall from her violet eyes and looked up to stare at the interloper who had ruined her quiet time.

Prince Oberyn stared back at her.

"Is everything okay?"

Ashara couldn't contain herself, she broke out into sobs and launched herself into the Red Vipers hands, clutching onto his sun embroiled tunic quite harshly.

Oberyn at a loss of what to do, did what he always did when Elia was upset. His hands wrapped themselves of their own accord across Ashara's waist bringing her closer into his chest. "Ash, I can't help if you don't tell me what's bothering you."

How was she to tell Oberyn of Elia's frailty when the would be Queen herself silenced Ashara into secrecy. He knew of it, he was her brother after all, but he didn't realise how worse it got with Rhaegar's seed in her belly. Rhaenys had nearly killed her, she shuddered to think of the hot-headed Princes reaction when he found out what was the cause of his beloved sisters death.

She needed to derail his questions. He had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, Elia always said to be weary of the Viper lurking in the grass. What better way to stop his line of interrogation then sticking her tongue down his throat.

The surprise in his eyes only lasted for a second, before he was hungrily kissing her back, his hands firmly on her waist.

They kissed until they needed respite and oxygen.

Black eyes met violet.

"Is that what was bothering you? You couldn't wait to kiss me."

The words were said with ill taste but Ashara couldn't help but smile at him. She always had harboured certain affections for Oberyn just as Elia had for Arthur.

Ashara gave him a smouldering look, "Harenhall has many empty rooms, we can thank Aegon Targaryen for that. How about we go look for one so I can taste you instead?"

If someone had told Oberyn that coming to the tourney of Harenhall was going to lead to whatever this was, he'd have laughed in their faces.

"Lead on my lady."

Soon, the Red Viper would forget all about why Ashara was crying. Instead he would focus on her moaning and panting.

Down below in Harenhall's main hall, Brandon Stark was off looking for Lady Ashara, so his brother- the Quiet wolf could have a dance. Unbeknownst to them the maid with laughing purple eyes was fornicating with a red snake.

 *****Break*** [Flashback end]**

Oberyn tightened the reins to his black stallion. He needed to make haste to Starfall. The letter penned to him by his crush was kept close to his heart.

Pulling the reins, his horse began to trot which slowly turned into galloping, its mane of fire billowing in the Dornish wind.

 _'If the letter is to be believed, Starfall is the answer to Elia's retribution. And I will seek it, even if I have to die trying.'_

 **AN:**

 **Sorry for the wait, I'd written more than a dozen chapters for the fic, alas my computer broke and they were all lost. I've to rewrite them all from scratch. But as of now, regular updates will begin again.**

 **I'll leave the including of lemons in your hands dear readers. If you want me to write them, or just gloss over them then leave a review.**

 **Any questions? Hit me up, send a review or a PM. I'll respond post-haste.**

 **As always, review, favourite, follow! I enjoy all strands of reviews.**

 **Till next time, Uzunami 669.**


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